


your fathers son

by Anonymous



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Roles, Konoha sucks, Uchiha Massacre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26883460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: (And she wasn’t assigned to the boy not to be his sensei because Mirror-Eye Kakashi had the Sharingan and that’s what matters -)And maybe that was for the best. I mean, what would she say? What would he say? He didn’t recognize her, and she barely recognized him (little Mikoto’s-Son and Itachi outside the shop little smile and blushing chubby cheeks and such a beautiful child what a lucky woman what a good wife Kurenai look what a wonderful mother -)No. She wasn’t an Uchiha anymore. Best to keep her distance.------Kurenai's an Uchiha. She doesn't know if that changes much.
Relationships: Sarutobi Asuma/Yuuhi Kurenai
Kudos: 7
Collections: Anonymous





	your fathers son

**Author's Note:**

> sooo kurenai has like red eyes black hair and is dope at genjutsu and we're just supposed to ignore that???

He had dreams that this was all a sick joke. Some sort of eternal genjutsu - that one day he’d wake up and run to his parents room and cry and tell him their awful nightmare.  
(“Dreams can’t hurt you, child. Not as much as I can.” “Fugaku.” A swat on the shoulder. “Try again.” A low, sleepy chuckle. “It was just a dream. Go back to sleep.”)  
He thought maybe he’d avoid Itachi that morning. Give him the silent treatment until he’d cock his head and give him attention.  
(he tried that before. He lasted ten minutes.)  
The Itachi would give him a sad little smile and maybe a piggy back ride, and he could bury his face in his long black hair, warm from the Konoha sun and smelling of sweat and ash.  
(“My little brother.” He’d chuckle. “Don’t you know I’ll always protect you?”)  
And then he’d wake up.  
-  
She did not abandon the clan.  
You simply couldn’t.  
If you married in, you weren’t really an Uchiha. If you married out, well, you can’t really stop being one. Not with her mane of black hair and her eyes. Not with her skill. Not with the what-ifs that plagued her and the oh god and why now why here?  
But on the other hand.  
(“Such a beautiful girl. No Sharingan, though. No real skill -“  
“ - But such a beautiful, wonderful wife.”  
“Exactly! Why she wants to go into Ninjutsu is beyond me.”)  
“I’m top in Jutsu.” She’s point out. But girl, that was a class with no Uchihas. I suppose your Genjutsu is passable for a civilian -  
For a woman -  
-  
They really think he doesn’t care.  
It’s probably better that way. He was -  
It hurt when it was taken away. The things you cared about. The things you loved so fiercely and took for granted.  
(He never worried about Father. The man was an oak tree. He didn’t think - even if Itachi tried to hurt him, he couldn’t fall. But then he was on the floor and bleeding and -)  
and friends are nice but they might die too but he can’t help it they’re his -  
-  
So (No-Eyes, Kunai-Sly, Needs-A-Guy) Kurenai was a teacher. And watched the kids she (was better than) loved succeed.  
(And she wasn’t assigned to the boy not to be his sensei because Mirror-Eye Kakashi had the Sharingan and that’s what matters -)  
And maybe that was for the best. I mean, what would she say? What would he say? He didn’t recognize her, and she barely recognized him (little Mikoto’s-Son and Itachi outside the shop little smile and blushing chubby cheeks and such a beautiful child what a lucky woman what a good wife Kurenai look what a wonderful mother -) and she wasn’t an Uchiha anymore wasn’t Kurenai Looks-Like-A-Guy shaved head so no one can grab it and no she’s not pretty she’s a ninja too -  
No. She wasn’t an Uchiha anymore. Best to keep her distance.  
-  
Except.  
The only one left.  
He was the only one left.  
No one knew how to deal with his hair (mama cut it and brushed it and Itachi sometimes but his was different) and he didn’t want to cut it all off so.  
He let it grow.  
He didn’t care. He didn’t.  
It was fine that no one cooked the food he really liked or had the blend of tea leaves that chased nightmares away. It was fine that the seeds of the vegetables he used to eat had dried and withered in the nursery. It was fine that no one knew his traditions or cooked like an Uchiha or walked like an Uchiha or knew the line between stoicism and compassion -  
It was fine that he was the only one left.  
And then he smelled something his (mother? father? aunt?) used to make. It was New Years, and he (couldn’t be in his house not with the memory of red lights and laughter and running feet and why is everyone on the ground why are they bleeding) decided to take a walk in the warm night.  
And he followed the scent - not to a civilian house. The housing for some of the shinobi, the great men who devoted their life to teaching, the women (who didn’t do their job, weren’t wives and mothers, despicable girls who dropped the mantle of tradition) who taught the children.  
And he swore -  
He could smell -  
He could see -  
A mane of black hair and the warmth of a fire.  
He stared and stared until his eyes hurt and blurred, and his cheeks felt funny and wet.  
-  
The boy was outside.  
Kurenai was cooking for the kids and the boy was outside.  
“Sensei - “ Kiba whined, the drawn out tone of a pup. “When’s it gonna be done? We can get takeout instead.”  
“You’re kind to cook for us, sensei.” Hinata whispered. Oh, how she adored that girl. Asuma caught her eye from over Shikamaru’s shoulder, across the Shogi board. He had a laugh around his lips.  
“We could order out.” He said. “You’re burning everything.”  
And the boy was outside. She knew he was outside. He was looking up through the window and he smelled sesame from the osechi from her mother’s recipe book -  
“I can’t quit in the middle,” she said, firmly. “I’m finishing dinner.” She paused. “Then, maybe barbecue.”  
Choji and Kiba cheered. She smiled at them, ignoring the worry on Asuma’s handsome face, ignoring the shock of black hair alone in the street.  
-  
And - maybe Sasuke was mad.  
Maybe he got his check for the month and stared at it as though it was supposed to make up for everything. Maybe he saw Kakashi picking out vegetables for Naruto (who never had a Mama who said “just two more big bites for a big strong boy”) and saw Naruto laugh about the people who hated him and maybe Sasuke saw red.  
But maybe he was an ungrateful boy. Maybe he just didn’t understand (and he would never understand “my second son too soft to be a ninja”) the village the war the tradition.  
So he trained harder. Tried harder.  
-  
“He doesn’t know.”  
Kakashi glanced up from his book.  
“Hm?”  
“Sasuke. Does he know?”  
Kakashi just kept on staring.  
“That you were surveillance.”  
The laziness left.  
“Apologies, Kurenai. I always forget.”  
Everyone did. (Thank god.)  
“That’s a no, then.” She stretched out. “That’s probably for the best.”  
Kakashi was looking at her very carefully.  
“...the surveillance?”  
The surveillance. The degradation. The mission. The designated survivor.  
She looked him square in the eye.  
“Yes.”  
Kakashi relaxed, marginally. Because why would non-clan care? The village was right. The Uchiha had no loyalty, no fealty, only blood and fire -  
“How...is he?” She asked gingerly, and winced.  
Kakashi didn’t look up from  
his book. “He’s fine.”  
-  
Kurenai thought he should know.  
(But - hell, she only knew because she was a liar and a sneak and a conjurer and she should not know what she does.)  
And how would she tell him? And what would it fix? What would it break?  
“Your hair’s starting to smoke.” Asuma said. He had a little warmth in his eyes, and she blushed despite herself.  
“Just trying to catch up to you.”  
Asuma chuckled, smoke puffing in little clouds.  
“What is it?”  
She sighed.  
“Something not my business.”  
Asuma gave her a look.  
“I always think it’s best to keep it that way.”  
So Kurenai chatted with him, and she smiled, and she tilted her head at all the right parts so her (black, pretty, lots and lots of) hair looked just right in the sun.  
And she ignored Asuma. And she started a plan.  
-  
And when the files were unclassified and when he saw her name -  
He thought he remembered. A tall figure with shaved hair, a pretty boy girl a bad ninja and he thought i’m a big ninja too maybe he knows too and maybe -  
And maybe he screamed and burned it or maybe he sat and stared in silence until he couldn’t feel his skin anymore and maybe -  
And maybe he thought he remembered that was someone’s sensei that was someone’s team and maybe -  
Maybe he wondered why she didn’t want him.  
-  
Because if he thought he’d been abandoned this long -  
yeah, why would he come?  
She rolled the sweets on the table anxiously, rice paper and bad Konoha plastic crunching under her palm and she didn’t hear or maybe she did she heard -  
Three short knocks.  
And then maybe she stood from the table and let him in.  
And he stared.  
And he remembered to bow and she bowed back and he took of his shoes and she sat and he poured tea for the two of them because that’s how it went it wasn’t gender it was age and it was wordless and they both knew -  
And maybe he scrunched his nose at the sweets like Mikoto would look at the flies on the windowpane and she was left aching because oh he looks just like his father but there’s mama too -  
And maybe she’d drop a ginger into his tea and watch the steam curled around his (neglected, thick, familiar) hair.  
And maybe she’d pour water and oil over it and braid it up and away from his eyes or twist it into a proper main and maybe his eyes would fall shut and he’d think mama or he’d watch to do it on his own.  
And maybe he’d cry a little bit they’d both be silent. Because what was there to say?  
And maybe he’d read the recipe books and marvel at the little seeds and rip apart the jerky with his teeth, something that finally fit his teeth and didn’t taste too syrupy-sweet like Konoha no fires to put out no troubles here we didn’t do anything wrong Konoha.  
Or maybe the door stayed shut. And the tea oversteeped. And everything stayed the same.  
-

But what really happened was:  
She knocked on his door.  
And he opened the door.  
And he bowed. And she bowed.  
And he said “I would be honored to receive your presence” and she said “thank you.”  
And she sat at the table and pulled out seeds and bundles of tea and bits of meat and candies and ginger he might like and he stared at all the presents on the low, dusty table.  
And he made them tea and he poured it for both of them and she said  
“what manners!”  
and they both laughed or they both cried  
and they drank together and he said  
“it isn’t quite right.”  
and she said  
“no, it never is.”


End file.
